


Under a Cloak of Sky (Gone, is the Sun's Promise to Rise)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Mid-Quest, Mordor, i think, inaccuracies to canon, pre-cirith ungol, pre-shelob, so y'all know there's gonna be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: Amongst the wastelands of Mordor, Sam wonders what they are holding on to.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Under a Cloak of Sky (Gone, is the Sun's Promise to Rise)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm almost certain this diverges very slightly from canon, because I'm pretty sure that they only actually enter Mordor after Shelob, so technically they couldn't be in Mordor without Gollum having betrayed them but I wanted Mordor-angst that takes place before the events at Cirith Ungol, so I wrote this.
> 
> Of course, there's the very likely chance that I'm wrong about all of this and it's actually all okay, and then you can just ignore me rambling.
> 
> (This is also an extension of/inspired by one of my samfro drabbles on my tumblr - also @ohmygoshwhatascream)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy x :)))

There are no stars in Mordor and the sky is always endless black.

At first, Sam had thought it were ash, thick smoke from the fiery pits of Mount Doom, that blocked out the sunlight and moonlight and twinkle of the stars. Later, he had realised that this was not so.

There was no sky in Mordor. Not like the one he had sat under in the Shire. It was not the same one that he saw at Bree, Rivendell, Amon Hen, Moria, anywhere. It was not the one that cradled a silver moon, not the one that had been a comfort overhead, not the one that had guided them and brought light when the sun could no longer. Instead, it was not there. The sky, as they had once known it, had gone.

Mordor was still a place upon Middle Earth, but it felt distanced; encased in its own pit of suffering. Even the Sundering Seas, holding the distant path to Valinor, did not split the land in a way such as the desolation beyond Mordor's bounds.

It was as if the land itself had been divided in two; split from life and death, darkness and light. For nothing grew on the barren plains of Mordor, not even a sapling would sprout. Like shadow, that seeps out from the fires of Mount Doom, pouring like molten lava across the lands, burning everything in its stead. There was no beauty, nothing to cherish and behold with wonder amongst this cursed wasteland. Even amongst the darkest nights of their adventure, Sam had always found something for his hope to grasp a hold of, whether it were the stars and the moon or the promising of buds unfurling on a flower.

There had always been something. There had always been something that had driven him, driven them both, forward. There was good in the world; the good they were fighting for.

But there is no good here. There is nothing sacred or beautiful or precious. There is nothing he can grab a hold of, nothing he can look towards. In Mordor, in the very bleakest pits of Middle Earth, Sam struggles to remember what they are trying to save.

And it was then, once they had crossed the threshold of life and death, that Sam realised that it was not ash and smoke that hid the sun.

It was the sky itself. Empty and endless. Devoid of all light, a carpet of hollow black spread up above them. 

Yet, despite all that, there is still something left, something that still manages to linger, even when everything else has gone. But it was not borne in the lands of Mordor, for Sam did not thing anything good and pure could ever be created in this place. No, it was something else. A thing which still held beauty, still held light. Although it was fading, it was there. A reminder of the beauty, of the sacrality, that still remained in this world.

Sam looks down at Frodo, the weight against his side. (He wishes he could call it warm, but Frodo's touch is cold. It is always cold, and it has been since the disaster upon Weathertop. Sam does not think it will ever truly heal, or at least not here, with him) He is sleeping, which Sam takes great comfort in, for it is the only time he is truly at peace - but even then; the nightmares will find their way to him eventually. 

He's supposed to be keeping guard, watching out for Gollum, that dirty, sneaky little creature. He, or _it,_ (Sam does not think a creature such as Gollum can be described in any other way) was supposed to be their guide but Sam doesn't trust him one bit. He's got that look in his eyes, that desperate hunger, whenever he catches a glimpse of that damned ring. All it takes is one moment where his control slips, where Gollum, or the desire for the ring, wins the battle, and Sam knows that he'll slit both their throats in a heartbeat.

But it's not just that; why he doesn't like Gollum. It's the way that sometimes, more often now than it had one been, Frodo will stare up at Sam with those large blue eyes and it will not be right. They'll be lamp-like, silvery and light and not like Frodo at all. They'll be someone else's eyes. Sam will look over at Gollum, slinking about under the cloak of darkness. Two pairs of those ghastly eyes will be leering at him. _Two pairs._

Frodo is gradually slipping, the ring's shine taking a hold of Frodo's resolve, twisting what is right and wrong until Frodo cannot remember what they are doing, or why. It's all Sam can do to try and keep Frodo's grasp on reality firm and steady. It's growing harder and harder every day and Gollum's presence, the mirror image of what could happen to Frodo if he loses the battle, is one that Sam wishes he did not have to see so often.

But they can't get through Mordor without him. He's reluctant to admit it, but without Gollum they would have been long dead. He's a necessary evil, Sam supposes. Something he must learn to abide if the quest is to be completed.

Even still, he doesn't think he can be blamed if he drops his guard just for a moment. It's a break, he tells himself, from staring out onto the bleakness of Mordor. That's an excuse, really. But he cannot help himself. His eyes are drawn to Frodo, like a moth to a flame, and he finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from his sleeping form.

He ignores the warmth in his stomach. Now is not a time for such matters. 

What he doesn't ignore, however, is how Frodo is far too thin - not that Sam isn't either - but it looks strange on him. He'd never been the roundest of hobbits, even before, and he'd never been broad or stout or wide (not like Sam, who had grown up with dirt under his fingernails and the world upon his shoulders) but he'd never been this slim, this skinny. He looks like a bundle of bones, wrapped round in a delicate layer of paper-thin skin. Like he's translucent. If there were light, here up on the peaks of Mordor, Sam would not be surprised if it would filter right through him, as if he were made of glass.

Sam isn't much better off, really. But he'd had more muscle, and a lot of that has seemed to stick. He knows that he too has changed drastically from the Hobbit he used to be, but he doesn't notice it as much on himself. Frodo, however. The difference is like day and night.

He's been attempting to keep morale up for the last few days, for Frodo seems to be growing weaker and weaker and Sam swears he will do everything in his power to lessen that hurt, but even his optimism is running dry in this desolate land. There is no water, no food. They are running low on their preserves, their packs are light and their clothes are torn and ruined. Sam has even forgotten what his skin looked like once, underneath all the dirt and grime and blood. He's been covered in it for so long. He can't even remember what it's like to be clean.

He doesn't think they will return.

He had, once. A long time ago now.

He had imagined their trek home, under a sky lit by a thousand stars, singing a merry tune as they would walk hand in hand in a land free of the darkness that had plagued them all for so long.

Now, he thinks that such a thing is impossible. He cannot see that happening. He cannot see them leaving this ruined wasteland alive.

But he holds on, still. He holds on to hope. He has to.

Frodo has lost everything, put it all on the line for this quest. The ring has twisted his mind beyond his control. It whispers to him in the never-ending darkness and there is no light left to banish that shadow. Or no natural light, anyway.

Sam must be that light. That thing to hold on to when everything else has gone.

He is _home_ , he is the reminder for what they must fight for. He has to be, there is no other choice. And, even though things are not okay, and things are not how he imagined they would be all those moons ago in Bag End's warm kitchen, with wise old Gandalf and Mr. Frodo's clear blue eyes, he would have it no other way.

So he smiles, tries to keep his eyes bright and his words light. Of course, it does not take much for Frodo to see through the act and see the hopelessness underneath. But they can pretend, for now. They can pretend that everything will be alright.

And, when Sam whispers it over the Eastern winds, stale and old and dry, they can almost believe it. 

They will return. They will make their way back to the Shire.

They will be happy.

So Sam watches Frodo as he sleeps and imagines a future where they can heal.

Even if he doesn't quite believe it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Huh I've got like 3 samfro fics in the works but I seem to be making new projects for myself rn so who knows when they'll get done. Either way, I'm completely hyperfixating on lotr rn so expect more of my garbage writing.
> 
> I really hope this is okay bc oof my writing reads back to me as awkward and stunted jfakfsh so i hope this isn't too bad 
> 
> (also I appreciate comments and kudos, they validate my existence and make me less insecure about my writing kjasfsdkjg)


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